


Logan's Watch

by elistaire



Category: New Mutants, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied Romance, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, Robots, Romance, universe mashup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1<br/>With everyone gone for the holiday, Charles is just about the only one left in the mansion.  He's happily making himself a nice cup of hot chocolate when, of course, the robots attack. </p><p>Only Wolverine and Wolfsbane are left to fend off the robots, but that's not even Charles' biggest problem.  Logan's got something to tell Charles, and it is going to require a lot more hot chocolate.  On the bad side, the fight with the robots trashed the kitchen.</p><p>Part 2</p><p>    Logan's got everyone on high alert, waiting for more robots to appear.</p><p>    Of course, high alert doesn't mean much, and Charles gets kidnapped anyway.</p><p>Part 3</p><p>Charles wakes up and he and Logan have a little talk, and come to something of an understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird bit of universe fusion between the movies and the comics. I stole a little bit from everywhere. 
> 
> I'd always wanted more of a relationship between Logan and Rahne, given that their abilities were so similar in some ways. 
> 
> Charles/Erik is implied, and Logan's otherwise making his case for Logan/Chuck. 
> 
> The whole thing is written, I'll get the rest up tomorrow night.

The mansion was almost empty. 

It was late May, the Memorial Day holiday was upon them, and almost all the students had gone home to their families. The X-Men were absent also, those who had families, and the ones who were without, had banded together to form their own family and they’d gone camping for the long weekend. It was a strange confluence that had left the mansion so eerily quiet and still. 

Charles could feel the emptiness of the building, and it was both disconcerting and welcome. He rarely had the pleasure of such quiet in his head, but he missed the usual _Sturm und Drang_ of so many lives intersecting. Only little Rahne Sinclair and Logan were left in the house, and they were in entirely different wings. 

Moira MacTaggert, Rahne’s adoptive mother, was far across the sea at Muir Isle, and unable to take her away for such a short holiday. Charles brushed against Rahne’s thoughts to ensure she was settled. Her best friend, Danielle Moonstar, had gone home on her winged horse for a time, and he worried when any of his charges were lonely, but she seemed comfortable with her solitude for the moment. Rahne’s thoughts were sweet with only a vague, smudgy melancholy, and if thoughts had smells, hers would be those of a little flower garden, just coming into bloom. But they were private thoughts, and Charles does not intrude any further. 

Logan was another matter entirely. Charles wasn’t sure exactly why the man decided to stay at the mansion for the weekend, when he was asked over a dozen times by the others to join them camping, but he had. The man was complicated and complex, and had dark shadows in his soul that he seemed obstinately certain could never be washed away. Charles would argue with him, because he could see the beauty of Logan’s being, and how he walked the path of noble samurai, even as he agonized over always falling short of such a lofty goal, but Logan’s response to such opinion would be only the slow grinding of his clenched jaw, and a hardening of his agate eyes. Charles saved his breath, for the time being at least. 

Charles did not often do more than stand at the edge of the pool of Logan’s thoughts because they were generally swift and deep, and while the surface was rarely calm, it was so much more turbulent to go even deeper. But he was concerned about the man. Jean’s death had started to be counted in years, but such wounds were difficult to heal, and Charles wondered if Logan was perhaps slipping into a brooding depression. He brushed against Logan, making his presence known. 

_Logan? I don’t mean to intrude, but I can tell you are agitated. If you need to talk, or at the very least, someone to listen…_

“Get outta my head, Chuck,” Logan said out loud, and then relented a moment later, some decision made that flitted too fast and too emotionally linked for Charles to understand it without actually being invasive. “I guess I do gotta talk. I’ll come by and see you. You in your office?”

_No, the kitchen. I was making myself a cup of hot chocolate._

Logan laughed. “Figures.” 

Charles retreated from Logan’s mind, giving him space to finish his thinking, and come to the kitchen. He fully anticipated that the remainder of the evening would be spent listening. Logan rarely unburdened himself, but Charles had found that he would occasionally release his thoughts, and he’d been doing it a little bit more each year that he spent at the mansion, until Charles felt they had come to some sort of understanding between them. He had worked diligently to make sure Logan would see him as an ally and a friend, and a provider of a safe place to retreat when the pressures of the world became too much. In turn, Logan had given more back than Charles could have ever asked for. The times that Logan had saved the lives of his students numbered too many to even begin to count. An evening playing therapist to his friend would only be a drop in the bucket to repay such bravery of spirit. 

Charles decided that a second mug of hot chocolate couldn’t possibly go amiss, so he poured out another amount of milk and set the pot on the stove to heat. There was a prickly wave of agitation that preceded Logan’s entry to the kitchen, but Charles turned and smiled, as welcoming as he could project. Logan tended to get his hackles up at the least provocation. 

“I’ve put some milk on for you, if you would like to join me.”

Logan prowled the kitchen for a moment. “No beer?” he asked. 

Charles sighed. “The others took it camping,” he said. Usually there was some squirreled away, for the adults who returned home after a horrendous day and needed to take the edge off, but not tonight. The cupboards were bare. “There’re better choices in the study,” Charles offered. He still kept the liquor cabinet fully stocked.

Logan thought about it and replied with a grunt. “Maybe later,” he said. 

“So, what’s on your mind, Logan? I can tell you’ve anxiety over a subject of some sort.”

“You reading my mind, Prof?” Logan asked, his voice lowered, nearly guttural. 

“No,” Charles said gently, “but I would be hard pressed not to see the distress in your face, even if I didn’t feel it rolling off you. What’s wrong, Logan? I might be able to help.”

Logan laughed, a sharp and bitter sound. “Oh, Chuck. I think only you could help me.”

Charles waited for Logan to go on. He gave the milk on the stove a stir and tried to keep his curiosity in check. This was Logan’s time to unburden himself, not an opportunity for Charles to be nosy. 

“Talking about this stuff ain’t easy for me,” Logan said gruffly. His attention was directly on the floor, and his arms were crossed against his chest. He leaned stiffly against the wall next to the door, ready to take flight.

“Talking is the first step,” Charles said. “And I’m here to listen.” He pulled the cocoa mix out of the pantry. It had been a gift from Raven last year for Christmas, showing up in his bedroom with a card attached, and Charles only used it for the most special of occasions. He didn’t want to use it up too quickly, at least not before Christmas came around again. He has so little contact with Raven these days, even the smallest tokens were cherished. But tonight, it was special enough, and Logan needed the extra care and treatment. 

“It isn’t like it was with Jean,” Logan said. 

Charles nodded for him to go on. With this much turmoil, he should have expected that it would have to be about Jean. Charles’ heart always beat a little harder when he thought of her, too. She’d been so special, it was hard not to love her. Losing her had ripped a hole in the fabric of the family he had built here at the mansion. Both Scott and Logan had been inconsolable for a very long time. 

“That happened in a flash. Like a bolt outta the sky. I just _knew_. This ain’t like that. It came on slow, though I realized it all of a sudden just a while ago. I’ve been worryin’ at it ever since.”

Charles stirred the milk. A few small bubbles had formed, and it was heating nicely. He thought over Logan’s words, but there wasn’t enough to make sense yet. “I don’t know quite what you’re getting at,” he said. “What isn’t like it was with Jean?”

An odd look crossed Logan’s face. “The whole thing. It’s just different, and I never had it happen this way before. But I’ve been thinking it over, and I know what I feel.”

Charles frowned and replayed Logan’s words. He hadn't been intruding on Logan’s thoughts before, which always made it harder for Charles to divine what people were talking about. Restricting his telepathy was akin to only talking on the telephone instead of face-to-face; he could hear a person, but not _see_ them. So much valuable non-verbal information was lost. He supposed he wasn't very much practiced at understanding without using his innate skills. “I’m still not sure. Are you telling me you’ve found someone like Jean?”

A tight smile crept across Logan’s face. “Not exactly, Prof. But sorta. I’m not being real clear, am I? It’s just that I been around here long enough that things have finally started to sink in, and what I’m trying to tell you, is that I--” He stopped, drawn up. He sniffed the air, the skin around his eyes tightening. “There’s something there,” he said, his voice calm and quiet. “I’ll go look.”

Charles frowned and cast out with his mind. _I don’t sense anyone, Logan._

“I don’t think it’s alive,” Logan whispered back. He was at the kitchen doorway, about to go out into the hall. He’d paused to cautiously peer down the long hallways to either side, when something smashed into him and propelled him backward. 

“Logan!” Charles shouted, adrenaline spiking through him. A machine of some sort had invaded the kitchen, was grappling with Logan now, tumbling and turning on the kitchen floor. They smashed into a cabinet, splintering the door all to pieces, and Logan’s claws popped out. He was thrashing against the thing, trying to slice at it, but it was whirring and rotating. 

There was nothing for Charles to gain any mental control upon. The machine was entirely non-sentient, and had nothing like a mind, only electronic functions and orders. Not for the first time, Charles wished he had even a sliver of Erik’s power. It would have been a simple thing to do away with these machines. As it was, Charles could only back himself out of the way, and reach out his mind to the one other person present on the mansion grounds. 

_Rahne, there are intruders on the grounds. Logan and I are currently under attack in the kitchen. We will deal with the threat. Please enact Safety Measure Alpha._

Safety Measure Alpha was an instruction to retreat to the underground escape tunnels, and key in a code that would hamper anything from following behind her. Charles could feel Rahne’s immediate reaction—fear, concern—but she began to follow his instructions, so he turned away from monitoring her, to deal again with the situation at hand. 

Two more metal constructions had entered the kitchen. They had smooth outer shells with telescoping multi-limbs, and an ominous steady red-light shining from a black top console, like they were Cyclops monsters from hell. _Logan, assistance if you please, a second robot is about to reach me._

Logan finished slicing the first machine to ribbons, and rolled to his feet, only to push off again into a fantastic leap across the room. He landed on the robot as it hovered only a few feet over Charles, and he slashed at it with his claws. The contraption entangled Logan in its telescoping arms, and held him tight, wrapping him up like a fly in spider-silk, and Logan struggled to find momentum to use his razor-sharp weapons. “Professor! Get back!” he shouted, a strange look flitting over his features. “There’s a third one!”

Charles looked away from Logan’s engagement with the second robot. There was a third machine just entering the kitchen. It rolled smoothly over to Charles, extending its long arms—

\--and went flying sideways it was hit feet first by a determined young mutant werewolf. 

“Wolfsbane!” Charles shouted. _I believe I told you to enact Safety Measure Alpha!_

“Yes, Professor,” Rahne said as she continued to attack the metal foe. She tore at it with her own claws, in her half-wolf-half-human form, where she melded strength and agility. “But, sir, I could tell that you needed me. I could hear the fight, and Mr. Logan smelled odd.” She had only turned her head for a moment to speak, but it had given the robot a slight advantage, and so she snarled, and went back to fighting it with all her ferocity. 

“We will talk of this later,” Charles advised. He really needed his students to rush to save themselves, not throw their efforts into fighting and rescuing, when they were but children. And what had she meant that Logan smelled peculiar?

Logan had dispatched his own opponent, and had turned to face yet another that entered into the kitchen. “They keep coming,” he said, with a quick look to Charles, but whatever else he meant to say was lost as he dodged a telescoping arm thrust forward at him. His claws went snickety-slice and the arms were lopped off. He thrust one arm forward into the belly of the robot and pulled upward, gutting it in a confusion of splintered electronics and sizzling noise.

Charles spent a moment to concentrate. _Logan. Rahne. I am linking you together, so you can communicate as you fight._ He could feel Rahne’s sudden shyness about the linkage, and then her fierce determination to do her best, and he could feel Logan’s mind shuttering just a bit—he was a very private person—but then re-adjusting to the new battle advantage. 

_Wolfsbane,_ Logan commanded, _kick that one over here, and guard the Professor._

“Yes, sir,” Rahne said. She arched head over heels and gave the robot a mighty kick that sent it directly into Logan’s path where he dispatched it with another slicing disembowelment. She kept tumbling and came up beside Charles. “Professor?” she asked. “There are more coming. I can hear them.”

“Stay close,” Charles said. At least Logan had told her to get herself out of danger. He trusted Logan’s abilities, and suspected that he would be able to deal with the remainder of the robot intruders. 

“Yes, Professor,” she returned, though she placed herself forward enough to attack, if she were needed. 

Logan took on two more of the machines as they entered the room, and Charles could feel the intensity of his concentration. He was gutting one of the machines as the second broke away and came at Charles again. Rahne leapt at it and took it sideways, slicing at its vulnerabilities. 

_Logan, if you please, there’s another one,_ Charles sent. One more machine had come in the doorway, its arms tucked in, its red-eye glowing dully. It sidled over to Charles, and extended one telescopic arm toward him. 

“No!” Logan shouted, pained and near panicked, and stabbed his opponent one more time to keep it down, and turned to leap across the room. His voice—his catapulted emotions—Charles felt a bit knocked sideways, since he hadn’t quite been expecting it—

Logan got there a moment too late. 

Bzzzt! 

The machine spasmed, overloaded, and went down. White-grey smoke actually issued from beneath its visor, indicating it was burnt out. 

Logan landed on it, claws extended. He stared at Charles for a moment. “Nice trick, Professor,” he finally said. 

“Hank made it for me. Some sort of circuit disruptor.” Charles offered the small hand-held device out to Logan. “For just such a situation as this. It only has a single charge in it, though.”

Logan declined to take the device. He smiled at it, and then focused his relieved expression on Charles. Then he turned to look at Rahn, who was squatting on top of her demolished opponent. “Nice job, kid,” he said, and Charles could feel something unfurl out of him. “I didn’t realize you were a little wolverine. Like me.” He looked down at her like she was some sort of miracle. “And good timing. Prof woulda been toast without you.”

Rahne, no longer in her half-wolf form, but now that of the thirteen-year-old girl that she was, in her school-uniform, blushed furiously. “Thank you, Mr. Logan” she said. She turned to Charles and threw herself at him, into a hug. “Oh, Professor, I was _so_ worried about you!” 

“Me, too, kid,” Logan said, with another of those dark expressions that Charles couldn’t read. “I need to make the loop around, just to make sure there aren’t more coming.” He nodded to Rahne. “Stay with the Professor, just in case one of them is still lingering about.”

Rahne gave him a curt nod back, and sat down, to watch for any incoming attacks. 

“Prof?” Logan asked. 

“I don’t sense anyone out there,” Charles said. “But neither did I before the attack.”

“I’ll be back,” Logan said, and Charles mentally kept tabs on him as he ran the corridors, searching. Logan also did a quick perimeter search, which took less than five minutes, at the pace that he managed, and he was back inside with a frown. “I don’t like the feel of the whole, damn thing, Prof.”

“Neither do I,” Charles admitted. “I’m sure Hank will be able to look the robots over and possibly determine a course of action from that.”

“Maybe,” Logan said. He reached out and patted Rahne on the head in one of those kid-you-done-good gestures and Rahne looked at him quizzically for a moment, and discovering she wasn’t being teased, instantly began beaming at him. She held out her hands in front of her and flexed them, although at the moment they were just the slender pink digits of a teenager. “I’m glad the beasties were just robots, and not real people. But it was harder to get past the metal shell. My claws aren’t anywhere near as strong as yours,” she lamented, obviously smitten with everything about Logan. 

“They’re better,” Logan assured her, “because they’re your own.”

Rahne’s smile got even bigger and wider and she flung herself into a hug, her arms around Logan’s waist. He hugged her back in an awkward, overhead way. “We should get you into some more training, kid,” he said. 

Charles watched the interaction with wonder and appreciation. Little Rahne had always been so shy, and Logan so stand-offish. It hadn’t ever occurred to him to try to bring the two together, but of course, their abilities were so very similar. It seemed only natural now that the two of them would find common ground, and perhaps, a student-mentor friendship. It was these moments when his dream of a school were truly realized, when even the most hardened of his tenants found something to give them joy and hope. Charles smiled. 

Then he sighed. The kitchen was a disaster. The cabinets had mostly been splintered to bits, the door to the refrigerator was dented, there were deep gouges in the floor and smashed areas on the walls. He supposed it had been time for a kitchen renovation anyway. The stove, however, had been completely untouched. He turned to it and discovered that the milk in the pan was steaming nicely, and perfectly ready for hot chocolate. If he split it three ways, it’d be just enough for everyone to have a demitasse cup. He picked up the spoon and gave the milk a stir. “Hot chocolate?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes, please, professor!” Rahne said. 

“Sure, why not,” Logan said. He moved to retrieve three mugs from one of the cupboards that actually hadn’t been smashed up. “Here ya go.”

Charles measured out the hot chocolate mix, stirred, and poured the milk-mixture out. He presented a mug to Rahne, and then one to Logan. “Cheers,” he said. 

Rahne clinked her mug against his and then Logan’s. “Cheers!” she said and sipped at her mug. “Ooh, ‘tis very good.”

Even Logan looked impressed. “Not bad,” he said. His gaze came over the edge of the mug as he took another swallow, and it was intense and determined, and with a sudden start Charles remembered they’d been about to have a serious conversation before being interrupted. Well, the fight had certainly taken Logan’s mind off his troubles, whatever they’d been. Perhaps the loss of the kitchen was a small price to pay for stymieing the ennui. A morose, moody Logan could do untold damage to the psyches of the students when they returned. It wasn’t exactly the least expensive of silver linings, but Charles would take what he could get. 

Rahne finished her hot chocolate, happily babbling on about how she did so love chocolate and sweets, but hadn’t really ever had them when she was younger, but that when she was with Lady Moira, whom she alternatively called Lady Moira and mummy, even in the same sentence, she often was treated to chocolate bars. Rahne thought Lady Moira was just the loveliest person ever, and Charles could feel her sincerity lapping out from her very heart. 

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Charles told her when they’d all finished their hot chocolates. “The whole kitchen needs…redecorating. It can be taken care of in the morning.”

“Oh, the poor kitchen!” Rahne said, looking around, a slight creep of shame on her face. “I didn’t quite mean to break so much….”

“Me neither, kid,” Logan said. “We’ll chalk it up to the robots. C’mon, it’s late. I’ll tuck you in.”

Rahne smiled up at him. “You’ve met my mummy, haven’t you, Mr. Logan?” she asked, a wild hope in her voice. “She’s very, very nice. I think you’d like her so very much.”

Logan chuckled. “I’ve met her, and I like her. Your mom’s a good woman.” He threw an enigmatic look at Charles. “But I think your mom’s got eyes for someone else.”

Rahne’s own eyes grew big as Logan led her out of the kitchen. “Who?” she demanded. “ _My_ Lady Moira? No, you’re joking with me. You must be. _Are_ you joking?”

Once they were gone Charles looked at the kitchen again. It had needed some updating. He had let a few things slide in favor of the students’ comfort instead of his own, and he’d regretted not fully outfitting it for the height and space he required. This time he could have it entirely redone. Plus, the colors could be updated. Nothing made people happier than new paint colors, really. He slowly began washing the three mugs, spoons, and the pot he’d used to make the hot chocolate with. He scanned the outside area again, still finding nothing and no one that might have sent the machines in to attack the mansion. He stared down at the carcass of one of the machines and contemplated what his next move might be. If not for Logan and Rahne, he would have been quickly subdued. Whomever sent the machines knew their target was a telepath, otherwise why send only machines, and they had chosen their timing wisely. 

“Somebody wants you, Chuck,” Logan said from the doorway, once again in his arms-folded posture, leaning against the now-battered wall. 

Charles hesitated, something about Logan’s words held an edge he couldn’t quite decode, but the answer to his statement was still obvious. “The question is who, and why,” Charles agreed. “Thank you for your care with Rahne. She’s very young, and her life had been difficult before coming here. I’m sure that seeing you in action, so to speak, will have done wonders for her self-esteem where her mutant ability is concerned.”

“She’s a sweet kid,” Logan said, then lapsed into silence as he took in the kitchen. “Messy,” he finally observed. 

“I’ll call for clean-up in the morning. There are a few companies around that gladly come to the mansion. They have mutants running their business, and are very discreet.”

“I’ll bet.” Logan moved through the wreckage until he was directly in front of Charles. “Before Rahne showed up, I thought I was gonna lose you. And on my watch.”

Charles laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. “Is that why you didn’t go camping with the others? Do they take lots to see who keeps an eye on me? I assure you, that for the most part, I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. Except when someone sends robots to collect you,” Logan said. “Ain’t no shame to need help sometimes. But no, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then what way did you mean it?” Charles asked. He felt a bit bewildered, and for the first time in a long time, he ached to raise his fingers to his temple. But that was a tell he’d rid himself of long ago, and a habit he didn’t want to fall into again. 

“This way,” Logan said. He slid his hand over Charles’, and it was warm and dry, rough with calluses. Logan’s hands were broad and wide, with thick fingers, stained dark from motor oil and garage grease, possibly unknown fluids from the carcasses of their machine opponents. Logan curled his fingers around Charles’ hand and grasped lightly, then lifted Charles’ hand and brought it forward. Charles could feel Logan’s breath against his knuckles in the moment before Logan turned Charles’ wrist over. Logan bent his head down and placed a light, dry kiss on the inside of Charles’ wrist, that vulnerable tender spot where one’s pulse fluttered to the surface, and it was easy to scent. “I know you hold a torch for lugnuts-for-brains—“

“Erik,” Charles said on a breath, so lightly that the name barely formed in his mouth. He found that the spot on his wrist where Logan had kissed him was holding the touch-sense memory of that kiss, not quite tingling. It was hard to think of Erik at this moment, when he had this dilemma in front of him. Loving Erik was easy because the possibility of Erik ever returning to him was slim, and comfortable in its remoteness. Having someone directly in front of him was entirely different. Yet, hadn’t Charles once been the toast of the town, long ago in his salad days, before he shouldered the burden of a school, and a team of heroes fighting for the world. 

“—but the guy ain’t done nothing but try to get you killed for the past ten years. It took me a while to realize what I felt where you were concerned, so I figure you probably want to think about me.” Logan hadn’t yet released his hand, and he looked up at Charles with dark eyes, fathomless and unknowing when he wasn’t dipping in with his telepathy. “If you’ve ever thought about me, like that, before.”

“Logan,” Charles began, and then realized that his usual verbal elegance had deserted him. “Logan, I don’t know what to say.”

“I got time to wait, Chuck. Do you?” Logan squeezed his hand, a warm grasp, and then released. He backed away and leaned against the wall again, keeping distance between them. 

Charles stared at the inside of his wrist as if a wasp had landed there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan's got everyone on high alert, waiting for more robots to appear. 
> 
> Of course, high alert doesn't mean much, and Charles gets kidnapped anyway.

Logan had a plan. 

It wasn’t quite a trap, because a trap would have indicated that he’d set up some bait, and the truth was that Chuck was sitting bait all the time. So, no, it wasn’t a trap. It was a plan. 

Logan figured that since the previous attack had occurred during the holiday lull, that the next attempt would also happen at the next big holiday: July 4th, which was just a little over a month from the initial contact. Someone might be keeping tabs on the mansion, and know when the kids were out of class, and when the X-Men were off to visit families, or taking care of kicking bad guy asses’ all over kingdom-come, and not home right then. So Logan had engaged in some stealth.

He’d cornered just about everyone individually, and given them a talking to. About how they were to keep their eyes peeled, and their attentions tuned, and god help them if they let something slip, because this was the Professor. To a last man and woman, they all agreed, of course, and when Logan stalked the hallways, he could see them stiffen their spines, start to pay better attention. But he wasn’t about to allow anything to happen, not on his watch, and as far as he was concerned, his watch was constant.

 _Logan, a word, please?_

Logan paused in his conversation with Storm. “Comin’ in a minute, Chuck,” he said.

“There’s over a week until the holiday,” she said. “We’ll be ready.” Then she smiled faintly. “Your…concern for the Professor is commendable. But he isn’t the vulnerable man you’ve been making him out to be.”

Logan scowled at her. He still remembered the slash of his claws going through nothing but wires and metal on the robots. Robots. With no brain and no flesh, and nothing for the Professor to control. “You weren’t there, Storm. It was me and one scrawny little kid werewolf, and nothing else, standing between a half dozen machines with murdering instructions.”

“Yes, I know. But we’re on alert now.”

“But nothin’,” he said, and stalked away from her. He didn’t understand the others sometimes, but he thought perhaps it had to do with his years in the military. He couldn’t quite remember those years, not exactly, but he remembered the protocols, and doing things the wrong way set his teeth on edge. He’d seen those machines—he and Wolfsbane had been the only thing keeping Chuck alive, and even if the Professor had been up on two good legs, without a physical mutation, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

“You needed me?” he asked as he entered the Professor’s office. 

“Ah, Logan,” the Professor said, looking reticent to begin, and then doubled down on speaking. Logan liked that about him. The man had guts in spades. “Your recent shoring up activities—“

Logan interrupted him. “Gotta be done. They’ll come back,” he said. 

“I understand that, but you’re making everyone…jittery.”

“Jittery?” Logan repeated the word. 

“They’re all about to jump out of their skins when they see you,” the Professor confirmed. “It’s set a very tense atmosphere. Very tense. Please, you must relax the stringency just a bit. I assure you, I’m quite safe for the moment.”

Logan considered that for a long moment. Three weeks ago, he’d been pacing the walls like a caged man, trying to figure out the unsettled, wild feelings in his gut. Finally, he’d been able to grab at the damn emotion and tie it down and look at it to figure out what the hell he’d been turning over at nights for, and it’d been a snootful, for sure. Without even realizing it, he’d fallen for the Professor. The man wasn’t anything to look at—ridiculously bald, severe features, and eyes too big for his head. But he had presence, and a calmness that drove straight through to Logan’s badly wounded heart. His last love—oh, Jean, he thought, and his deplorable heart gave a debilitated thump against his chest—had been an instant flame of desire. She’d been tough and vulnerable, both, and gorgeous, with a body to die for, and a mind to match. Who couldn’t see her but fall into love, and lust, and be attracted soul and mind? 

But not Chuck. With the Professor, it was entirely different. It was slow, a multitude of layers of small bits of trust, like those damn sedimentary rocks that Beast droned on about in some of his lectures, until the pressure from the top squeezed all the dust and dirt into something harder and more compact than it ever could have been if left alone. The Professor just kept sticking his hand out in friendship and guidance, even when he pulled back a bloody stump, and every time Logan had needed that open hand, there Chuck had been, palm up and face open. So, it had been infinitesimal, each little tiny grit of sand, layered on top of each other, until Logan had just woken up one day and that stupid rock had formed in his heart. 

Then, when he’d finally tried to tell Chuck about it, to explain, there’d been hellish one-eyed, spaghetti-armed robots come to destroy him. Some nights, remembering how close he’d come to losing the Professor, Logan was nearly overcome with fear and rage. There had been one point, during the fight, when he’d seen the robot and been a moment too slow and--thank god for that little mutant, Rahne. Sweet kid, and he’d been taking her down to Danger Room sessions ever since. If he’d had a daughter, she could have been it. It was nice to be in the company of someone who understood what he meant when he talked about smell, and listening to others sweat and breathe, and the way a room felt when you walked in, and how people either moved like prey, or didn’t. 

But then, with his heart laid bare and open, Chuck had pulled back. Logan wasn’t a telepath, so he didn’t know what the Professor was thinking, but he could smell and see and hear. Chuck’s pulse had been through the roof, when they’d touched, and he’d seen the pulse-point flutter at his throat, and heard his breathing go shallow. Chuck had _smelled_ like _yes_ , though he’d acted like no. Logan could only assume it was that dumbass of an ex-flame, the rusted wonder, Magneto, that held Chuck in check. Jesus, Chuck. Magneto almost killed you twice last year, was all Logan could think. 

So, Logan was just biding his time, because that sedimentary rock in his heart wasn’t going anywhere, if anything, the pressure on it just kept pushing it down more into one big continuous lump of stone. While he waited for Chuck to get his head around the offer, he was busy trying to prepare for the next assault. If Logan could have, he’d have slept in the room with Chuck, even if it’d been some damn old fashioned idea like a trundle bed, or he’d even been willing to take to the floor. Because Logan worried that much, and ever since he’d realized what he felt, he’d known it was his Watch, and would always be his Watch. Chuck could take on the big thinkers, but he needed Logan there to watch his back. That was something Logan could do for him, even if Chuck didn’t want anything else from him. 

So now, Logan was staring down at him, and weighing his words, and his own response, because Chuck was _not_ safe, and he was pretty sure that they were about to have an argument. 

“Logan?” Chuck asked.

“I’ll stop needling everybody,” Logan ground out. 

“Thank you, that’s all I ask. And Logan….”

“Yeah?”

“About what you said--”

Logan took a deep breath and there was that smell again, light in the air, of Chuck wanting him, of his body, at least, saying _yes_ , even if the carefully controlled expression on the Professor’s face was about to give him the brush off. “About what I said,” Logan interrupted. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry about, Chuck.” Logan took the explicit liberty of moving in on the Professor’s personal space. He leaned in and put his hand up to Chuck’s face, resting his thumb against the plush lower lip, and cupping his fingers against his jawline. He exerted a bit of pressure on his thumb, and he pushed in just enough to touch at Chuck’s teeth. To Logan’s intense pleasure, the man actually closed his eyes for a moment and his mouth parted just the barest fraction before he seemed to come back to control his every response. The Professor reached up a hand to clasp at Logan’s wrist and pull his hand away. 

“No, please. I just wanted to smooth things between us. There’s nothing that can happen here.”

“Not from my view of things,” Logan said. “As far as I’m concerned, lots of things can happen here.” Logan noted that Chuck had yet to release his grip on his wrist. He pulled his arm back, and Chuck’s hand came along for the ride. Logan raised his wrist and scented on Chuck’s knuckles, smelling that definite _yes _, an uncontrollable pheromone that Chuck was putting off. He turned his head and rubbed Chuck’s knuckles against the side of his face. The lingering scent there would drive him crazy for the rest of the day, but it would be worth it, even, for this short contact. He had to go slow with the Professor. “You keep thinking about it, Professor,” he said.__

Chuck snatched his hand back like he’d touched a hot coal, and Logan turned and left the room. He needed a run. His adrenaline was pumping through his blood like he’d taken a handful of drugs, and he needed to secure the perimeter of the grounds anyway. A ten mile jog would be just the thing to cool him off. 

When he got back to the mansion, it was on the dark side of twilight. Lights on inside the room illuminated people moving about, tending to their lives, and Logan could see the light was off in the Prof’s office, and on in his bedroom, which was on the first floor, tucked away in the corner at the end of the wing. Logan strolled very slowly past the window, which was open, but the drapes were drawn, and he couldn’t hear anything other than the quiet turn of a piece of paper. It sounded like Chuck was reading. 

He kept walking, to be out of sight of the window, with its promise of light and company within. He kicked at the gravel beneath his feet. 

Logan spent a moment to imagine how it might go, if he could have the reception he’d wanted. He’d go in the room—Chuck would be reading on the bed, in straight-as-a-pin blankets and sheets, pillow proper behind him. Logan could—what? He didn’t quite know. With anyone else, it would have been easy to imagine what he’d do. But with Chuck? Just the thought of taking the book out of Chuck’s hands—the possibility that their fingers might brush against each other—undid everything in Logan and his brain started firing off signals low in his belly that he’d now have to go find a cold shower to deal with. Hell. Logan was pretty sure these emotions he kept feeling weren’t just some kind of odd lust he’d developed. He didn’t just want to lick the Professor up and down like a popsicle, although that would have been a very decent start. He wanted those mundane, everyday sorts of things. Logan wanted to be the one to bring Chuck his afternoon tea. To know if he wanted one sort of tea or another. Ah, hell. He was utterly sunk. He might just as well start going around lapping at saucers of cream. He was getting to be a tame little bitty kitty-cat. 

“Professor?”

The voice pulled Logan upright and out of his reverie. He was a dozen or more feet away from the window now, around the corner, but he recognized Rahne’s voice. 

There was no reply. 

“Professor?” she sounded just a little bit more urgent. There was the sound of knocking. “Professor, I heard a noise. Are you—are you in there?” 

Logan felt a chill settle over his heart. He’d just heard…rustling paper? Could it have been something else? He backtracked, and in a burst of effort, vaulted to the window, and climbed through it, pushing the drapes out of the way. The room was empty. “Rahne!” he yelled. “Professor’s not here.”

Rahne rattled knob and pushed open the door. She took in the room at a glance and changed into her half-wolf-half-human form. “I can smell him.”

Logan put his hand down on the rumpled area of the bed. Still warm. “He was just here. Damn it! Sound the alarm!” He turned to the window and leapt for it. He’d had his back to it for only a few moments, but anything could have happened. Rahne came through the window after him only moments later. 

“I told Dani through our psi-link. She’s alerting everyone,” Rahne said, shifting to her full wolf form and sniffing the ground, then shifting back to her intermediate shape. “I can do this,” she said. “This way.” Logan didn’t argue. His sense of smell was good, but hers was far better. He squinted into the distance. All of twilight was gone except the hazy greyness of the last shreds of light. He noted a red glow in the middle-distance, and next to him Rahne sucked in a gasp when she must have seen it also. 

One of the hellish-Cyclops robots from weeks ago was back, and it had Chuck in its arms, holding him like a child, though his head lolled back and he was undoubtedly unconscious. Logan hoped not dead. He was too far away to tell for sure. 

“I can smell something, some chemical,” Rahne said, her voice low. 

Now that she mentioned it, Logan could too. “It knocked him out,” Logan said, and an odd wash of relief went through him. Not dead. The robots wanted to kidnap him, not kill him, which meant that all was not lost. 

The robot’s head swiveled and it sighted them, and immediately started moving away, very fast. 

“Shit,” Logan said and started after it. The damn thing was fast though. Rahne followed. The robot pulled farther away from them, blasting through the air on some sort of power device. But it didn’t seem to have the capacity for true flight, as it hovered over the ground, moving smoothly away. “Garage,” Logan said. “Keep it in your sights, I’ll pick you up.”

Rahne transformed down into her full wolf form and took off after the robot at full speed. Logan took a quick detour to the garage, which was a hundred yards to the side. “Don’t fail me now, Summers,” he said, and there was Summers’ motorcycle, all gassed up, and the key dangling from the ignition. Logan jumped on it, and it roared to life. He put it in gear and got out of there. He had guessed where the robot would go, just because it was out of sight distance, and for half a minute, he thought he’d guessed wrong, but then Rahne’s galloping form came into view. He rode up beside her. “Get on!” he shouted. 

She leapt into the air, transforming in mid-leap to her halfway-form, and landed behind him. “Dani said the others are following. But we’re too far away now, and I can’t hear her,” Rahne said. “So I don’t know who or how.”

Next time, Logan thought, he would need to make everyone more jittery. Obviously, they should all have been paying better attention. Damn it! It wasn’t the Fourth of July yet! 

Over the roar of the engine, he asked, “How did you know?”

“I heard him,” Rahne said, her mouth right next to his ear, and her arms wrapped around him to keep from flying off the bike. “Like he was in pain. I’d been patrolling, like you’d told me. I always did a round just before bed.”

Logan nodded. At least someone had been doing their job. Unlike himself. Going for a run. Leaving the mansion unprotected. He could kick himself. He could do it later, because right now he needed to keep focused. 

He wasn’t gaining, but neither was his losing, the robot in front of him. He was pushing the motorcycle to its limits, and he knew that while he and Rahne could probably jump free safely if they fell, it would mean losing the robot. That wasn’t an option, so he kept the bike to the fastest speed he could manage without dumping it. 

They rode for an hour, and then finally, the robot seemed to start taking turns. 

Eventually, there was a giant complex that loomed in the darkness. A few yellow light bulbs burned here and there, but mostly it was dark and quiet. Logan pulled the motorcycle off to the side, under a canopy of trees and cut the engine. There was still some light traffic in the distance, so perhaps the engine hadn’t caused any alarm. 

He looked to Rahne. “Anything from the others?”

Rahne shook her head. “I can’t hear Dani yet. They must be really far behind us.” 

“Or lost,” Logan said grimly. Rahne wasn’t a telepath, and Danielle Moonstar only had an affinity for the psi-link with Rahne when she was in her wolf form. It wasn’t true telepathy, and there wasn’t much range. He looked to the complex. “I’m going in,” he said. “Alone.”

“But what if--”

Logan interrupted her. “If this goes wrong, someone has to get the others. But I can’t wait out here if the Professor is in danger. I’ll just look and see what is happening, and then decide how to proceed. Just be ready for anything.”

“Okay,” Rahne said. “Yell if you need me,” she said. 

Logan smirked at her in the darkness. “You bet I will,” he said. He took off under the cover of the darkest shade of the trees toward the complex. The largest warehouse in the middle had a dim glow coming from it, and he thought it might have been where the robot had been headed. 

He walked as quietly as possible through the shadows, and slipped inside, where he let the faint light guide him to the center. He stayed behind the crates, noticing almost absently that they were full of wires and mechanical parts. He paused and took a good look around. Robot pieces. It was a warehouse chock full to brimming with more of the robots and robot parts. 

He shook his head and sidled forward. He could hear voices. 

“Explain this!” came a stern, angry voice, and Logan recognized Magneto. Shit. If he paid too much attention to his surroundings, he’d notice Logan’s adamantium skeleton. Logan hoped he stayed good and distracted. 

“Erik, he’s freezing to the touch,” came another voice that Logan recognized as Mystique. She sounded very worried and concerned, and that didn’t sit quite right with him. Mystique was a cold blooded agent, and a deadly opponent that reveled in the mind-fuck. He hadn’t ever heard her actually express any emotion that might be even near caring. 

Logan decided to risk peeking around a corner. 

Four people were there. Magneto, Mystique, and a red-devil mutant that Logan recognized from the files. Azazel, and he was a teleporter. The fourth person was a little girl, just about Rahne’s age, with dark eyes and a toothy frown, and black hair swept into a long ponytail that trailed mid-way down her back. She seemed to be the one that Magneto was towering over and demanding answers from. 

Logan was glad that there didn’t seem to be a telepath in the bunch, or else he’d have been discovered lickety-split. Chuck didn’t seem in immediate danger. If anything, Mystique seemed to be trying to care for him. He was still being supported by the robot, which had stopped dead center, and was offering up the Professor like he was a kitten. Mystique rubbed Chuck’s hands with her own. 

“He needs some blankets, or tea, or something. He won’t wake up.” Mystique looked positively frightened, and her voice held a thin-edge of panic. “He’s not breathing very well.” Azazel moved over to kneel beside Mystique and also seemed intent on peering at Chuck, his brows knit together.

Magneto focused on the young girl in front of him, and was still bellowing at her. “What did you do?” he demanded. 

“I thought you…I thought you, you know,” the girl said, clearly frightened. Her voice jumped and broke. “Because you said you did.” She started crying and sobbing, and babbling nonsense. 

Mystique looked away from Chuck and focused a narrowed-eyed look at Magneto. “For fuck’s sake. Calm her down! I need to know what she did to him!”

Magneto’s face turned a deep ashen grey, but he seemed to relent. When he spoke again, it was much softer, though still strained. “Sprocket. Stop this. This is not a game. We need to know what you did. Now, tell me _what you did_.”

The girl hiccupped several times and nodded through her tears. “I just told them to go get him. But I told them a _month_ ago. When they didn’t come back the first time, I thought it hadn’t worked. I forgot about it.” She frowned and concentrated, and Logan had the feeling that she was using a mutant power that he couldn’t see. “I didn’t realize, the rest were all worker droids. This one is a MedBot. It’s got different parameters.”

“You programmed the machines to…to retrieve Professor X?” Magneto asked, his voice now very gentle, and it set every nerve in Logan’s body on edge. “Why?”

“Because you said you wanted him. By your side.” She hiccupped some more. 

“Oh, shit. You did say that,” Mystique said. She flicked her disapproving attention from Magneto back to Chuck, where her expression softened into worry. 

Sprocket nodded. “You did,” she said. “You said if we had Professor X, then we’d be unstoppable. And…other stuff,” she mumbled. 

“We need to get Charles somewhere else. I think he’s in shock. He’s not doing well.” Mystique glared at the girl with such ire that Logan wondered if she would stoop to cold-blooded murder of her own kind. “We’re nearly a hundred miles from the mansion. The robot carried him all that way in the night air.”

“I didn’t know about the MedBot,” Sprocket said. She walked over to the robot and put her fingers on it, and her eyes went unfocused for a long moment. “It’s just a tranquilizer. It should wear off.”

“Sprocket, we are going to have a discussion about this.” Magneto’s voice had taken on that tone of imperial doom. “Tell the robot to give Professor X to Azazel,” Magneto said. “We’ll have to get him to a hospital, I think. Azazel, Mystique? You can manage it?” 

“Of course,” Mystique said, and Azazel just nodded. 

Fuck, Logan thought. If Azazel teleported Chuck to a hospital, Logan wouldn’t know which hospital, or if they would release him. But making a move now was suicide. Once Magneto realized he was there, he’d flick him around by his metallic bones. Logan thought about Rahne. She didn’t have any metal in her, but it was an awful lot to ask a thirteen year old girl to take on three of the baddest mutants around. The only good aspect of this whole ordeal, was that it didn’t seem like Chuck’s kidnapping had been anything more than a misguided effort on the girl’s part, and not a diabolic plan by the Brotherhood. If anything, they seemed rather solicitous of Chuck’s welfare, which was puzzling. Logan had been sure that Magneto had been actively trying to bump Chuck off the past year. 

“It is a Medbot,” the girl said. “It can do other stuff, too, you know.” She splayed her hand on the robot, and the dull red-eye brightened as it seemed to receive new orders. “It’s got stimulants.”

“Stimulants?” Magneto asked. 

“To wake him up.”

“No, don’t!” Magneto shouted, but he was a moment too late because the MedBot had already plunged a needle into Chuck’s skin. 

“Don’t?” the girl asked. 

A moment later, Chuck woke up, his eyes shooting open, and everyone in the room froze in place. Even Logan. A moment later, Logan was released. 

“Logan?” Chuck asked, his voice weak. “Would you mind assisting here, for a moment?”

Logan walked out of darkness behind the crates. “Professor?” He was worried now. Chuck didn’t look so good. He was pale and did look cold, and his skin had actually taken on a dull blue cast. 

“I think this is enough adventure for one night,” he said. “Storm is arriving in the plane in a moment. If you wouldn’t mind bringing me aboard.”

Logan slipped his arms under the MedBot’s appendages and pulled Chuck toward him, tucking him against him. He was cold. He wrapped an arm around the man and pressed him against his chest. “Chuck,” he said. 

“Later, please,” Chuck replied. “Rahne?”

Rahne came out of the shadows. “You called me?” she said. 

“Come here for a moment, please.” 

Rahne did, though she skirted around the adult mutants with caution. “Sir?”

“If you’d talk with that girl for a moment, please. Her name is Angelique, though she prefers to be called Sprocket. Tell her about the school, and that she may come and stay, if she would like to.”

“Me, sir?”

Chuck put two fingers to the side of his head. “Yes, please, Rahne. I need to concentrate on another task.”

Logan could guess what such a task might be--don’t lose consciousness while holding three powerful mutants immobile. 

Sprocket suddenly listed to the side, surprised she could move again. “Hey!” she said. 

Rahne did her best. “Ooh, don’t worry. You’re okay now. I’m Rahne,” she said. “The Professor wanted me to tell you about our school!”

“School?” Sprocket repeated, looking past Rahne to the three frozen adults. “Are they going to be okay?”

Rahne nodded. “Soon as we leave. I promise.”

Logan stopped paying attention to their discussion. It seemed rather a bit of brilliance, he thought, for one thirteen year old to tell another about their school. Perhaps Sprocket hadn’t anywhere else to go. 

“She didn’t,” Chuck murmured. “Storm’s landed outside in the field. Give Rahne another minute, and then please walk me out there.”

Logan did, and was interested to note that Sprocket decided to return with them. She crowded close to Rahne as they left. “You don’t think they’ll be mad?” she whispered. 

“Maybe a little,” Rahne whispered back. “You could apologize.”

“I’m really sorry,” Sprocket called behind her. “But this is a school. I never fit in before. But maybe this time it’ll work out. If it doesn’t, I’ll come back. I promise. I’m really sorry.”

Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Mystique’s eyes grow just a touch less severe. Magneto looked as grim as ever. He didn’t really give a fuck. “Come on, kids,” he said. Chuck’s eyes were closed and he was breathing very shallowly. 

Beast and Havok met them at the entrance ramp and ushered them in. Logan settled in on a bench, still cradling the Professor in his arms. The man was freezing cold to the touch. It was better to keep him held than release him to the cold air of the plane. Beast draped a blanket over Chuck, and quietly knelt in front of Logan to take Chuck’s pulse rate. He exchanged a look with Logan. 

“Storm, if you please?” the professor whispered, and Storm took the Blackbird into the air. They were minutes into the flight, and probably finally out of Magneto’s influence when Chuck finally relaxed. “Just put me in bed, Logan,” he said, his voice low and dandelion-puff thin. 

Logan gave him a light squeeze, and the Professor fell asleep in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wakes up and he and Logan have a little talk, and come to something of an understanding.

When Charles woke up next, the light in his room was the perfect, bright light of late morning. From the indistinct murmuring of schoolchildren minds, still going about their daily tasks, he knew that he’d been asleep for nearly eight hours. He felt much less worse than he had previously, though he was nowhere near feeling good. The sedative the robot had given him had been very strong, and whatever had comprised its counterpoint had been even stronger. He’d been pulled between two extremes, and had barely managed to hang on to his willpower to do what was necessary to extricate himself from the situation last night. 

He’d been grateful for Logan and Rahne’s presences there. Without them, it wouldn’t have ended with him in his bed. It didn’t bear thinking about too much, what Erik and Raven might have ultimately decided to do with him. A long convalescence far from his school would certainly have been their preference. Or perhaps Erik would have let him die, some days Charles wasn’t entirely sure. Charles only knew what his own heart held. Even if he read Erik’s mind, it didn’t reveal the truths hidden in his soul. Charles didn’t want to believe that Erik would be careless of Charles’ death, but he no longer truly knew, and he feared the worst in his darkest moments. 

Now there was Logan. Who was sleeping, in a very uncomfortable position, in the chair next to his bed. Charles took a moment to watch him sleep. He could feel the haze of dreams flit across Logan’s mind, but he didn’t pry into them. Dreams were not necessarily windows into the mind of the dreamer. Charles could see the dark smudge of exhaustion across Logan’s features, and he wondered how long Logan had kept watch before finally allowing himself to rest, on edge and nerves worn thin. The sleep was good for him, and the hard-backed chair wouldn’t hurt him permanently. 

Logan was a bit of a conundrum. 

Ever since his admission last month of his feelings…Charles had been conflicted.

There were quite a few reasons why Charles couldn’t have anything to do romantically with Logan. Charles was the leader of their team, and in a position of responsibility. Abusing that position was anathema to him. He was also the head master of the school, and responsible for too many lives to grow careless. Logan was a rogue agent, inclined to vanish for his own personal reasons, and both inherently dependable and despondently fickle about where and how he leant his allegiance. Logan didn’t stay long in any one place, and Charles was tired of having those he allowed himself to care about—to be vulnerable for—to suddenly leave him. He was done with having everything else—vengeance, curiosity, inherited titles, and more—come between him and a love. Charles had a role and a place here, and if he was to do it alone, then he was to do it alone. 

So, he had no intention of offering Logan anything but his friendship. There was nothing he wanted to cultivate. 

“Chuck.” Logan shifted in his chair and opened his eyes. He shook his head, as if he’d been privy to Charles’ musings. “Bullshit, Professor. Whatever you’re thinking is bullshit.”

“Logan, just listen to me--”

“Like hell.” Logan shook his head, his forehead furrowing into a frown. “I can’t hear your thoughts, but I can _smell_ you. Everything about you screams yes to me.” He licked his lips and his gaze didn’t waver from Charles’ face. “Chuck, you’ve been asleep for hours, and when I carried you in here, you needed me here. You might not want me, but you got me anyway. You need someone to watch your back. And you need someone who knows what it means to be on watch.” Logan balled one hand into a fist and thumped it over his heart. “It’s heavy in my chest, like a rock. You carry a torch for Lugnut, fine. But I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Logan--”

“Ain’t nothin’ changed. I’m here for the duration, and that’s that.” Logan stopped and practically glared at Charles, daring him to disagree, to send him away. Charles would never have done that, and for more reason than just that he offered refuge to any mutant who needed it. But he couldn’t encourage the man. It wasn’t right. Not when Charles had nothing to give him that he hadn’t already put on offer. He wasn’t willing to offer up anything else, the rest of it, he would clutch at with tightened grasp. 

“Logan, I’m not able to give you what you want,” Charles started. 

“How do you know what I want?” Logan countered, argumentative. 

Charles paused. He generally didn’t mentally trespass where he shouldn’t among his friends, so the truth was, he had no idea. “I suppose I don’t, actually. What do you want?”

“First, I want out of this chair.” Logan nodded at the bed. “It’d be nicer to curl up near you. Easier, too, to keep watch.” He held up three fingers in a mock gesture. “I promise not to touch.”

Charles swallowed. He looked at the bed. It was overly large. More than enough room for another person, even two or three. “What else?” he asked. 

 

“It’s enough to start with,” Logan said. “But secondly, I think you need combat training. You got drawbacks you need to overcome. You’re fair game for anybody that can weld a seam and put a robot together.”

“Training,” Charles echoed. “Is that all?”

“For now,” Logan said. He leaned forward out of the chair and put a hand on top of the bed. He shifted his weight forward onto that hand. “What do you say, Chuck?”

“You just want to sleep here. With me. In the bed.”

“Yeah.”

“To keep watch,” Charles said. 

“Yeah. For starters. We’ll leave the rest of it to its own time.”

“I doubt there will be any ‘rest of it’, Logan,” Charles told him. 

Logan didn’t reply. He just shifted forward even more. “I’m gonna sleep here now,” he said. He crawled onto the bed entirely. He settled down, lean legs stretched out, on the other side of the bed, and sank down into the mattress with a sigh of comfort. 

“What if I say no?” Charles asked. 

“You smell like yes, yes, and more yes,” Logan said. He reached out and caught one of Charles’ hands with his own, already breaking his no touching promise, but Charles didn’t care to remind him of it. Logan curled around until his face was near Charles’ wrist, and he turned it over to sniff at the inside. Gently he placed a feather-light kiss there. “I don’t snore,” he said. 

Charles pressed his lips together. His instincts were all telling him to let Logan stay, because the bed was large and lonely, and Logan was safe and formidable, and warm, and Charles just liked to listen to the way he breathed. Only his logical mind was telling him that this was a very bad idea, indeed. “As long as you don’t snore, you may stay,” he said. 

“Good,” Logan said, and put his head down and closed his eyes. The fingers of his one hand were still lightly brushing the inside of Charles’ wrist as they both fell back asleep.


End file.
